Taken Too Far
by Chi-Chan11
Summary: After England and France get into a fight, France vows his revenge. When a nasty rumor that turns out to be true turns everyone against England, they find out what happens when things are taken too far. This is a dedication to what happens when words fly and someone gets hit.
1. Chapter 1

**The following story is a dedication to what can happen when rumors are thrown too far, and the wounds hit too hard. When this is being read, I want everyone to remember that actions have unexpected consequences. Thank you.**

**-Chi-Chan11**

* * *

The midday sun was streaming through the windows into the blandly colored room, but the action going on inside was far from dull. A pair of blondes were nose to nose, one with his messy hair marring the fury in his emerald eyes; the other with a sarcastic smirk on his face, seemingly infuriating the other.

"Shut up frog! All you do is lie." The Englishman had grit his teeth, jabbing his counterpart in the chest. "Nothing you say about me is true!"

"Then why is it so true that you're the black sheep of Europe?" Sniggering France tossed his hair over his shoulder. "Why deny the truth Angleterre?"

"Shut up you perverted, snide, infuriating frog!" England's voice rose to a screech, and he looked ready to cause some physical damage.

"Black sheep of Europe, black sheep of Europe!" France began to taunt the other man in a singsong voice, much like how first-graders fight. "Besides, you're just a pompous, stuck-" France was silenced by England lunging at him and latching his hands around his neck. A gagging sound erupted from France, and at that particular moment, Germany and Switzerland, both in deep conversation walked in, hoping to set up for the upcoming meeting. With startled gazes, they descended upon the fighting pair, wrenching them apart.

"What are you doing?" A seething Germany had England by the collar, shooting daggers at him, while Switzerland had his gun pointed at France, a silent threat not to move.

"That frog and I had a little disagreement, and he took it too far." Sneering, England jerked his head towards France. In response, France raised an eyebrow suggestively, causing England to try to attack him again.

"Switzerland, keep an eye on France for a minute please, I'm going to bring England back to his hotel." Sighing, Germany tugged on the Englishman's collar, pulling him towards the door. Grudgingly, England walked behind him. But the last words from France put him at a strange unease.

"You'll regret every last word you said Angleterre! I swear you will!" With a dark laugh, the door swung closed, silencing the jeering remarks. Germany released his collar, and England followed like a scolded puppy, waiting for a chance to go back to his hotel and think of a good way to get back at France.

"Germany, can I just go back to the hotel by myself, I've had enough frog for today. I probably will take the day off and get caught up on some notes for tomorrow's meeting. Is that alright with you Germany?" Adding a sarcastic tone to the end, England rolled his eyes.

"Ja, go on ahead England, I don't want to see you back at the meeting though. France is still riled up, and I need to finish talking to Switzerland." Turning on heel, Germany walked off towards the closed oak door. Sighing, England stalked towards his hotel, still fuming. After a few minutes of walking he reached the hotel, it was a plain-whitewashed building with nice rooms. Walking up three flights of stairs, he slammed the door to his room, rattling a stack of plates on the counter. Making his way to a desk, he sat down in a rolling chair, spreading out a pile of paperwork. Grabbing a pen, he began pouring over the sheets, reading through and signing when need be. About half-way through the paperwork, and a few hours later, his cellphone began to buzz. The little screen illuminating bright green. Grabbing the phone he pressed it to his ear.

"Hello. This is England." Realizing he hadn't checked his caller ID, he tried to sound formal and polite, just in case his boss was calling.

"Hey England, it's America, I have a quick question for you. Is what France said true dude?" The voice on the other end sounded suspicious and oddly cool.

"What did France say? I know nothing about that." Becoming confused, England stood up, pacing slowly across the room.

"He said that," America's voice cut off for a second, as if he was trying to place his words carefully. "He said that you sent smallpox into Valley Forge during the revolution, so you could win the war. But you lost anyway, it completely backfired." His voice was low and suspicious, "I remember that, I was in so much pain for so long." England could literally hear the shiver from the other end of the line. "Is that true?"

Dumbfounded, England tried to place his words. He had in fact sent smallpox to Valley Forge, but it was an accident, he hadn't expected the prisoners to get sick, nor the rebels stationed nearby. So it wasn't his fault right? Biting his lip, he tried to formulate a response. "Well, um, smallpox is a European disease. Nevertheless, you could say it originated from England, but the transmission was completely accidental and-"

"So it's true." America's voice was icy cold, and with a click, the phone line cut off and stunned, England stared at the phone, cursing his inability to explain.

"Bloody hell, what happened?" Dropping the phone onto the desk, he walked into his bedroom, sitting down in an armchair, trying to contemplate what in fact just happened. "Why would France tell him, oh." Interrupting his own talking, England remembered the most recent of the England and France fights.

* * *

It had been a day since France had decided to get his revenge on England. He had starting by telling a nasty rumor to America, Prussia, Spain and Russia. To his delight, the rumor he had in fact made up was in fact true; today the G8 (plus Prussia and almost everyone else, supposed to be there or not) was meeting again, and France was looking forward to watching the show. Prussia, America, Germany and himself were already seated. Italy was wandering around with Japan, pointing out the most whimsical things he could find. The rest of the members were streaming in, and to France's glee, England was coming in behind China, looking a bit sheepish.

"Hello Angleterre!" Waving sarcastically, he watched the Englishman glare harshly. "Enjoying being back at the meeting?"

"It's lovely, bloody lovely." Taking his seat, England became engrossed in a few pieces of paper work. Prussia took immediate interesting, smiling with a harsh aura.

"Hey England! The awesome Prussia has heard a little rumor, do you happen to know what that is?" Not letting England answered he continued. "The awesome Prussia has heard that your failed attempts at biological warfare cheating completely failed, and you still lost! Keseseseses." Cackling, Prussia's words were quickly picked up on by the other nations, and it was quickly echoed across the room.

"So it's true, da?"

"Completely foolish, western nations are so immature aru."

"Smallpox was so painful dude."

"America-san is correct."

"So weak! Keseseseses!"

"Oui, sad really."

"Stop, please." Starting to become embarrassed, England had bowed his head, a pink blush creeping up his face. "It was an accident."

"Oh, sure it was." America spat sarcastically, sneering at his former mentor, "so pitiful." Appalled, England ducked his head.

"I swear-"

"Why fight it Angleterre? We all know you tried and failed." With a snicker, he watched England's face drop.

"Yeah England! You've caused damage already!"

"Fine! If none of you wankers don't want me around, I'll just leave!" Turning on heel, England stormed out, his throat tight. France smirked, this was going much better than expected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'm very excited about the reviews I've gotten, and there will certainly be more where this came from. Enjoy the shenanigans!**

**-Chi-Chan11**

**P.S- The stuff about smallpox is all true, I did my NHD project on it and I know way too much about it.**

* * *

For the second time in a week, England had not attended a meeting. He was appalled that all the other countries had ganged up on him so quickly, accusing and mocking his accident. Storming back to the hotel, he slammed the door behind him, knocking a plate to floor. Cursing, he grabbed a broom out of the closet he swept the shards into a pile, scooping them up and dumping them into a trash can. Making his way back to his bedroom, he slumped down into the armchair, holding his head in his hands. Never in his life had he felt that embarrassed and furious, but with no words to say.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through his contacts, until he found America's number. Apprehensively, he jammed down the dial button, half ready to hang up immediately. The phone buzzed for a minute, but to England's relief and annoyance, it went to voicemail.

"Hey dude! You've reached Alfred F. Jones! I'm way too busy to answer the phone, so leave a message, and I'll try to get back to you!" The cheery recording stopped, and a shrill beep signaled England's turn to speak.

"Hey America, it's England. I just wanted to try to explain, since I didn't get a chance at the meeting. I wanted to say that the incident with the smallpox was a complete accident, I had totally forgot that you weren't resistant to the virus, and it got out on the prison ships, and it spread somehow. I didn't know how to explain that, and I hope you can forgive me. Bye." Sighing, England pressed the end button walking over to his bed. The events of the day had been exhausting, and England was hoping for a nap before going out for dinner or something. Laying down on top of the bedspread, he watched the ceiling fan spin, until his eyes drifted shut.

* * *

America sighed, he was sitting at his chair, the meeting had just ended. He was still livid about what France had said, and what England had confirmed. He remembered the excruciating pustules that had sprung all across his body during the revolution. He recalled the wails of the men as they laid on flimsy cots, the frigid air slapping across their faces as they died. The scars on his body were memento to that, not as apparent on his face and hands, but there was one at his hair line, hidden by his cowlick that was still as vivid as ever. The other nations had streamed out of the room, leaving only him there, packing his briefcase.

Instinctively, he pulled out his cellphone, checking for messages. To his surprise, he had a missed call from England, gritting his teeth he listened to the message. It was some explanation about the smallpox, and America became even irater. Punching the call back button on the phone, he tapped his feet impatiently as the phone rang. After a minute, someone picked up.

"Hello America, did you get my message?" England sounded a bit nervous, but in his rage, America took no notice.

"Yes I got your message. What do you take me for, an idiot?" His voice rose, thundering into the little electronic.

"What? No, no, I just want to explain what happened and-"

"I don't believe a word of it! You just couldn't bear to let me go, so you cheated and still lost. Pathetic!" America spat the last words, voice dripping with venom.

"It was an accident," England's voice shook slightly, and America still was convinced he was holding onto the ruse.

"The Hell it was!" America's voice rose to a scream, and he slammed the "end call" button on the phone. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he stalked out the door.

* * *

England set his phone down in shock, America was obviously furious, and was convinced he was lying. Walking back to his desk in a daze, he tried to work his head over what in fact just happened. Finishing his paperwork half-heartedly, he replaced the papers into the folder and put them away. After a second his phone started buzzing with text messages, more than one at the sound of it. Picking it up, he found the first one was from France.

'_Enjoying your just desserts Angleterre?' _England could almost see the smirk on that arrogant Frenchman's face. He frowned, and scrolled to the next message, it was from Prussia.

'_You're so weak it's sad! Keseseseses!' _Biting his lip England looked to the next message, it was from Russia.

'_Even the Baltic States are stronger than you, da?' _With budding fury, England looked to the last message. This was from America, and demolished any anger present, turning it to a harsh depression.

'_Don't call or contact me anymore. What you did was unforgivable, and I never want to see you again.' _His blood running cold, he slumped over, burying his head in his hands. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he beat them back harshly. A little rumor had reduced him to a wreck, and he had lost any relationship he had regained with his former charge. There was another meeting in a week, and the group was to stay at the hotel for now, but he would not come. He would not come to be humiliated and mocked; he would stay put. Loosening his tie, he turned on the television, relishing some time to himself, even if it was watching something mindless.

Lounging across the couch, he tried to loose himself in the show, whatever it was about. Unfortunately, he was unable to, thoughts were pounding at his head like a horrible migraine. _'I know I messed up, why are they torturing me? Why would France draw something out for so long?' _Shaking his head at the questions that would perhaps never be answered, he turned off the television. Walking into his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, mulling over the thoughts in his head. His phone buzzed again, he grabbed it and found another text from France.

'_Oh Angleterre, how could you be so naïve? I said I'd get my revenge, and this is only the beginning. Watch your back, I have so much more to show you, hon hon hon hon hon!' _Sighing breathily, he thought about throwing the phone, but decided against it, not wanting to pay for a new one. Instead deciding to slam it down onto the table, he felt his throat becoming tight again.

Wiping away the few tears that had begun to creep up, he made a quick decision. He would in fact attend the meeting next week and prove that he could work through this whole mess. The meeting was Monday morning, it was Friday evening, he had a few days to mentally prepare himself. Becoming hungry, he looked through a newspaper, looking for a restaurant or something. Finding a little café a few blocks down, he retied his tie and pulled on his coat.

Outside it was a little bit nippy, and the autumn air was crisp and scented with food. After a few minutes of walking, he arrived at the café. A modest sign reading the inscription 'Penny's' adorned the awning hanging off the roof, and the smell of warm bread cascaded from the door. Walking in, he was immediately greeted by a lanky blonde waitress with tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose.

"Hello, my name is Aimee and I'll be your server this evening, are you the only one in the party or are you waiting for someone?" She smiled sweetly, but her eyes looked bored, like a girl who was forced into a job by her parents.

"It's just me." England followed the girl to a small table by a window, he took a seat and the girl stared at him expectantly. "Yes?" He looked up at her, putting an elbow on the table.

"What can I get you to drink Mr-"

"Kirkland, and some tea please, earl grey."

"Any cream or sugar?"

"On the side please". The waitress scribbled down the order, and walked off, her ballet flats clicking on the white tile floor. Sighing, England tried to engross himself in a newspaper sitting on the table. The paper was dull, no interesting or meaningful stories to distract himself with. The café was quiet, expect for the occasional sound of a cash register, but the clanging of bell startled England out of his poorly attempted daze. Standing in the doorway was France and Prussia, they had obviously come for dinner, but at the sight of England the pair smirked. At that moment Aimee came back with his tea.

"Here Mr. Kirkland, anything else?" Aimee set a bowl of sugar cubes and a tiny cream pitcher down with the tea.

"Some soup please," trying to sound interested, "what's your special?"

"Um, our special is a creamy carrot soup, would you like that?" Aimee pushed her glasses up on her nose, smiling softly.

"Sure, that should be it. Thank you." He reached to grab his paper when a voice cut through the café.

"Excusez-moi, can we get some help over here?" France was waving his hand impatiently, Prussia smirking at his side.

"Yeah, sure, hang on a second please." Aimee scrawled out the order, giving England another smile, "it will only be a few minutes Mr. Kirkland." She turned on heel and walked over to France and Prussia, by the looks of it, France started flirting with Aimee, England had noticed the blush that crept up her cheeks, followed by a harsh yet inaudible retort. The pair was led to a table adjacent to England. "What can I get you two?" Aimee sighed softly, seeming irate with the pair.

"Some coffee if you could," France ordered for the both of them, then turned so Prussia and him were facing England. "Oh, hello Angleterre, I didn't see you there." Feigning surprise, France pressed his fingers to his lips.

"You bloody knew I was here you wanker." England hissed at France, narrowing his eyes.

"Why so touchy? You don't have to be so harsh, maybe it's good karma has caught up to you." Smiling wryly, Prussia added fuel to the fire.

"It's sad really, seeing an attempt at cheating fail so miserably, so lame! Kesesesesesesese!" Prussia tossed his head back in laughter, the guffaws echoing through the café. Aimee gave him a glare, setting down two cups of hot coffee.

"Like I was saying, it's truly pathetic, right Gilbert?"

"Absolutely." Prussia smirked, and do England's dismay continued, "Absolutely weak, pathetic and sad!"

"I concur, positively pitiful, hon hon hon hon hon!" France laughed heartily at his comment, and Prussia's laugh joined in a moment later.

"The worst!"

"A horrible excuse of a country!"

"Wretchedly poor planning eyebrows!"

"Will the both of you wankers shut up?" England snapped at the pair, eyes wild with fury. "I've tried to explain what happened to America and he wouldn't hear any of it! You two are taking it way too far!" His voice cracked at the last sentence, and it took all of his might not to break down.

"Hey, Mr. Kirkland, I have your soup." Aimee set the steaming bowl of orange liquid in front of him and turned to France and Prussia. "Anything for you two?"

"A bowl of beef stew and some wurst, and make it snappy, the awesome Gilbert is starved." The young waitress shot Prussia a glare.

"Watch your requests, I would hate to ask you to leave." Aimee stalked off, leaving England alone with the pair. They promptly continued their insults.

"Black sheep of Europe!" France started, smirking like a maniac.

"Disgrace!"

"Failure!" The voices jeered and slammed into England like cannonballs, and attempting to get out of the confrontation, he grabbed his paper and took a tentative sip of hot tea. Holding the paper up to block France and Prussia's faces, he tried to look interested in an article about gas prices. Unfortunately, just when England thought he might be left alone, France slipped his hand under the paper and grabbed the soup bowl. With one quick motion, he shoved the bowl over. The bowl up-ended and hot carrot soup slopped over his lap, and Prussia made a quick grab at the teacup and dumped it all over his head, saturating his hair.

"Bloody Hell! What's wrong with you two?" Standing up, England stormed up to the counter and slammed down a handful of random bills, "keep the change Aimee." He started to turn on heel to leave, but a hand caught his shoulder.

"Are you alright Mr. Kirkland?" The young blonde sounded concerned, "are the two over there causing you trouble? Is that tea and soup all over you?" Her eyebrows were raised suspiciously, England nodded subtly and she spun towards the table, eyes blazing. "Hey! You two! I want you out now!" As Aimee strode towards other table, France was smiling coyly and Prussia started off on some incomprehensible rant. Taking the opportunity, England raced out the door. He began running as fast as he could, weaving through the people wandering around. Hot tears had sprung and broken through, and now they streamed down his face, soaking him even more. As he went around a corner, he smashed into someone and went sprawling out on the concrete.

"Hey dude, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, oh, it's you." America glared coldly at the Brit laying on his back. "What are you doing here?" He pulled England to his feet and crossed his arms begrudgingly.

"I w-was getting d-dinner", England looked down hiccupping, the tears still sliding down his face. "B-but I was s-so rudely i-interrupted, so I'm h-heading home." He tried to push past America, hoping to not let the younger nation see him crying. Regrettably, his luck was far-gone.

"England, are you crying?" America's voice was not nearly as harsh as it once was. "Are you okay dude? Did I make you upset when I called you?" Starting to regret what he said, America tried to tip England's chin up but to no avail.

"N-no, some words w-were said, a-and things got t-taken too f-far." With that, England slipped around America and took off at a dead sprint, he didn't until he reached his hotel room. As soo as he reached his bed, he slammed into it, the sobs making his body shake until he passed out breathlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow! Nine reviews on this last chapter! I'm very sorry to any England fans I upset, it will resolve itself in the end. But the end is not here yet. I want to thank everyone for their encouragement, and I hope this story in all can send a message about bullying and gossip.**

**-Chi-Chan11**

* * *

When England woke up again, it was completely dark. Sitting up, he realized he was soaking wet and sticky and remembered what had happened mere hours ago. Stiffly getting up, he disrobed, leaving the ruined clothes in a careless pile in a corner. Covering up with a robe, he trudged into the bathroom and started the shower, cranking the dial up to poaching hot. England stared into the mirror, running his hands through his blonde hair. A wave of despair crashed over him at about the same time the realization came. He cupped his face, twisting it to either side examining it slowly.

"Bloody Hell," shaking his head, he hung up the robe and stepped into the shower, gasping a bit as the hot water cascaded over him. Closing his eyes for a minute, he let the thoughts run through his head _'no wonder they make fun of me, I'm hideous.' _A jeering little voice echoed through his head, mocking his very existence. Shaking his head, he rubbed shampoo between his hands and began trying to get the sticky feeling out of his hair. In a few seconds, a massive amount of foam had formed; looking like a can of whipped cream had exploded all over the stall._ 'I'm so fat and ugly, if only I could be thinner, more attractive.' _He gloomily began rinsing out his hair the warmth hugging him like a blanket. "Damn!" He cursed suddenly, causing a deluge of water to enter his mouth. Stepping out of the line of liquid fire, he rubbed his eyes. "This has gone far enough, this whole mess has turned me into a sniveling child." Muttering to himself, he washed the sticky soup residue off himself quickly and rinsed off again.

Pounding the dial until the water stopped, England stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. Looking into the mirror again, he tugged at his hair and pinched his stomach, absentmindedly noting every flaw and defect. Feeling self-conscious, the snide little voice snuck back in, throwing cannonballs wildly. _'fat, ugly and weak'_, cupping his hands over his ears, he tried to drown the voices out, unfortunately it stayed strong, if anything getting louder. _'stupid, so stupid and naïve' _Suppressing a wail, England stalked into the bedroom, throwing on whatever he could find.

Now in a clashing pair of blue slacks and an orange t-shirt, he walked back into his den. Right before he slumped down into his chair, he realized the fact that his clothing did not match at all. Wearily getting up, he exchanged the slacks for a pair of seldom-used gray sweatpants. Slumping back down into the chair, he reached for his phone, praying there were no more hurtful texts waiting to slap him in the face. There were two.

The first was a duel work by France and Prussia; he opened the screen and started to read.

'_Hello Angleterre! This is France and Prussia, we just wanted to make sure you knew how pathetic it was to see you run from us like-' _The message was cut short as England smashed the delete button with an outraged roar, again temped to throw the phone at the wall. Gritting his teeth, he scrolled down to the next message, to his utter surprise, the message was from none other than America. The boy who had only days ago insisted he had never wanted to see him again, so quick to go back on his vow.

'_Hey England, it's America. I wanted to see if you were okay, you seemed really upset and stuff. So I'm sorry I didn't listen to you earlier, and well, if you want to talk, go ahead and call me. I swear I won't yell. And again, I just wanted to check on you because you didn't seem okay when I knocked you down, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. Just give me a chance.' _With wide eyes, England set the phone down, pulling his knees up to his chest. A blast of confusion slapped him in the face, he didn't know what to believe anymore. Picking the phone back up, he stared at the text until the glow of the screen made him see spots. Shaking his head to get rid of the offending splotches, he tried to made rhyme or reason of the message; the almost pristine grammar and the serious and regretful tone of the message was highly unusual. Suddenly it hit him.

America was conspiring with the rest of them.

Fury washing over him, he threw the phone at the wall and the battery flew off under the couch. Stomping over, he fished the battery out and stuffed it back into the otherwise undamaged phone. _'That bastard! He's just trying to be your friend and then stab you in the back.' _Cursing in his head, he scrolled through his contacts and dialed, chest heaving with an animalistic rage.

"Hey, England is that you?" America sounded oddly subdued.

"Damn right is you burger eating git!" Hollering into the phone, he clenched his fists.

"Whoa, whoa. What's wrong England? Did I say something bad?" The American now sounded concerned. "Iggy?"

"Don't you Iggy me! I know you are working with them you damn wanker!" Hissing icily, England paced across the room. "You're helping them torment me! It's not funny America!"

"Hey, wait. Let me think here, I don't know what you're talking about."

"The Hell you don't! Why are you lying to me?" Voice rising to a screech, England gripped the phone until his knuckles turned white. "Why would you do this to me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Arthur, please explain to me!"

"The soup, the tea! Don't you dare tell me you don't know what happened again!"

"But I don't-" Almost immediately, America's confused remark was interrupted.

"Damn it! What did I just tell you!" Starting to feel tears coming, England grit his teeth, and a wave of realization slapped him in the face. "It's because I'm not good enough, too weak, is it?" In response to his harsh statement, England could hear the gasp on the other end of the line.

"What? Arthur no, no, no, why would I think that?"

"STOP LYING YOU DAMN WANKER!" Voice raising to a bloodcurdling scream, he ended the call and threw the phone again. This time, it smashed into dozens of pieces, the battery flying off to places unknown. Groaning miserably, England slumped down, burying his head in his hands. Once again the tears came, smothering him in a salty mess. Wailing gloomily, the draconian little voice in his head took that as its invitation to return.

'_So weak, so pathetic and ugly! Too fat and grotesque, if only you were just a little better, than maybe, just maybe, they'd like you.' _Cupping his hands over his ears, England whispered back, feeling half-insane.

"No, no! I'm not, they just," lost for words, England resumed his tears.

'_Simpleminded fool!' _Scrunching his eyes up, England wailed like a small child, tugging at his blonde hair.

"Fine! Damn it fine!" Standing up, England stomped his foot, "I'll do it, I'll do it! Just leave me alone, I swear, I'll lose every pound, every flaw. Just leave me alone!" In this crazed and depressed state, he dashed to his room to formulate a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow! More reviews each time I post a new chapter. This is my most popular story so far, so I will try to update it the most. However, if I do not work on my other fic (Tropical Tides) my friend will kill me. Enjoy!**

**-Chi-Chan11**

**P.S- I'm starting with an England P.O.V, then it will switch to an America P.O.V for the second half.**

* * *

Over the next few weeks, the plan devised by a half-crazed England had worked well. Unfortunately, in his eyes, it was failing miserably. He had eaten only when necessary, and in that case, the lightest and most possibly healthy food he could find. Mainly water and vegetables, in the privacy of his home, it was almost too easy to follow his rituals. Although the number on the scale decreased at a drastic rate with the assistance of the newfound super-diet and heavy-duty exercise, it was never enough. The nasty little voice had taken refuge in his head, spitting insults to fuel his desire for perfection. He had taken to skipping meetings, and hid up in his room whenever the doorbell rang.

Today England sat in his study, pouring over the tiny notebook that had recorded every meal. However, to his fury, it was too full, the weak binges and consumptions. Flinging the notebook against the wall, he stalked back into his den. A newly bought exercise machine gleamed in the corner; it had become his new best friend, getting used every day. _'Still so fat England, you bought the machine, use it!" _The shrewd little voice snarled in his ear, any resistance he had to it had broken long ago. Grunting with effort, he slid under the barbell and lifted as much as he could manage. After a few repetitions, his bony arms started to quake with effort, but in a rush of vigor, he kept lifting until his arms were a lift away from giving out.

With arms tingling, England wobbled over to the exercise bike sitting in another corner. Playing the dusty stereo, he began to bike like there was no tomorrow. After a few minutes, sweat was streaming down his face, and England felt like he was on top of the world. These rituals would continue for hours each day, and took up most of his time.

After a few hours, he half-heartedly stopped his frantic exercise, cursing his weakness to continue, he quavered dangerously as he hopped off the bike. Walking into his bathroom, he started the hot water and stripped, ready to weigh himself once again. Stepping onto the rebellious scale, he grit his teeth and gazed down at the number. Much too high. Moaning melodramatically, he vowed to cut more out of his diet before hopping into the shower.

Plumes of steam and buffeting water immediately greeted him like an old friend. Shampooing quickly, he let the foam stay for a short while before he sent it packing down the drain. Washing the rest of him quickly, he shut off the water and clambered out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel. Walking into his bedroom, England pulled on the loosest pair of clothing he could find. _'Of course, it's the only thing that fits right.' _His head slumped dejectedly; and he wandered into his study, taking a seat at his desk.

A pile of undone paperwork was teetering dangerously on his desk, causing some concern to the fact if it was not mailed in, there would be people looking for him. Snatching a piece of paper off the top of the stack, he started reading through it quickly, scribbling in comments and signatures when it was required. The task was always tedious and boring, but today, it seemed even more so. Tapping his fingers on the desk to amuse himself, England grabbed another piece off the stack. It wobbled and only a quick grab from England saved it from total annihilation. Filling out another piece of paper, he placed it in the significantly smaller done pile. Unfortunately, the next grab at a piece of paperwork toppled the stack, spreading paper all over the study.

"Damn," cursing quietly, England got up and sifted through the paperwork, trying to put everything back in order. After about two-thirds of it was reorganized, he found an obnoxiously yellow sticky-note baring writing in blue ink.

"Important. World Meeting Wednesday Noon." Gazing at the note for a moment, a wild idea came over him. Why not attend the meeting? Show the frog and his insufferable sidekick that he was strong, and had overcome all the faults they had previously shunned him for. The meeting was in two days, he would not eat anything, he would be completely pure. No harsh and degrading toxins swirling inside his body, perfection. Smiling for the first time in days, he happily returned to his paperwork.

* * *

For once, America was a little bit early for a World Meeting. Although Japan was already there, but he was always early, but no England. Ever since the unproductive conversation with England that had resulted in the island nation screaming at the confused American, he was extremely worried. So there he sat, twiddling his thumbs and praying to God that England would actually show up. Japan had gone to check on him once, but no one had answered the door. Anxiety building, he got up from his chair and paced restlessly, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"Are you alright America-san?" Japan had looked up from his paperwork, a look of slight concern etched on his face.

"No, not really," the reply had come out much more meekly than America had expected, and in an effort to save face, he cleared his throat. "Just a little frazzled Japan, no big deal dude." Smiling unenthusiastically, he sat back down and tried to engross himself in paperwork. The other nations were streaming in, Germany being dragged inside by a noisy Italy, Austria walking in with an over-exaggerated flounce, and China running in, tailed by a smiling Russia.

A dull chatter had overtaken the quiet, the echoes creating odd bounce backs of conversations, one countries lacing with another. Twiddling his thumbs awkwardly, America stared at the door intently, watching for any sign of the Brit who had skipped more than a few meetings. Almost everyone was here now. The last of the stragglers were coming in, and to America's surprise, but happiness nonetheless, England was among them. Unfortunately, something was not right.

The England America knew was a confident man, who was extremely healthy, although a little thin and pale, but this was no England. He looked like he was wasting away, under a baggy suit; the boniness of his arms and legs was all too evident. Widening his eyes with horror, America noticed how much paler the Brit had become. His eyes were dull with defeat and sorrow, and even in that state, they stood out from his sheet-pale complexion. He walked to his chair, slumped with the weight of a thousand woes that only the most brilliant could see. Almost immediately, France and Prussia began whispering, gesturing in England's direction. The pair stood up, walking over to the dejected England, the smirk on France's face was mischievous at best.

"Hello Angleterre, it's been quite a while since anyone has seen you. Been mulling over the revelation that you are in fact weak?" Smiling cruelly, the Frenchman clapped the Brit on the shoulder, causing him to flinch.

"Keseseseses! Time is catching up to you England, you are becoming frail." Prussia cackled darkly, causing France to join in. Mouth agape, America stood up slowly, trying to come to terms to what he was seeing. Had France and Prussia been torturing him that harshly?

"I would have to agree Prussia, so pathetic!" The laughing intensified, and England had ducked his head, tugging at his hair. Biting his lip guiltily, America listened closely, for once not ready to spring in and be the hero. The pair leaned in close, words hidden to anyone who might help, except of course America, who was still eavesdropping.

"You are nothing but a weak, sorry man, no wonder you lost all your colonies!" Prussia hissed gleefully, a dark leer etched across his face.

"It's no wonder Amérique left so long ago, perhaps he thought right to leave when he could. You fought so hard, even went to cheat, and yet you still lost." France sneered ghoulishly, and a furious blush crossed the Brit's cheeks. Eyes wide, America wondered if he in fact heard that right, they had in fact gone so far as to insult England on that level.

'_Is that how it started? The rumors about the revolution' _Musing over the questions, America gazed at a piece of paper intently. The rest of the countries had arrived, and Germany was calling for order. France had stood up, walking up to the front in a way he only could. Standing at the podium, he smirked at England before starting. America paid no attention to the Frenchman's rant, until it ended with a statement that had nothing to do with anything relevant.

"Let's all thank Angleterre, for actually getting his pathetic self out of his room and showing up for once! Hon hon hon hon hon hon!" Gasps echoed throughout the room, along with the word "oh" being drawn out by the more obnoxious countries.

"No," Underneath the bickering and attempts to control order, a soft voice, hoarse with disuse was lost in the mess.

"Verdammt France!" Germany was seething, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Good one! Keseseseses!" Prussia promptly joined in, cackling maniacally.

"Quite, da?"

"No."

"So immature aru," China promptly chipped in, looking stunned.

"That was kind of harsh dude," A sheepish America stood up, subtly glaring over at France.

"NO!" A raucous voice cut through the argument, rising to a harsh screech like nails on a chalkboard. All eyes turned towards the noise, it was England, clutching the chair like life support as he stood. "I have had q-quite enough," America watched the Brit intently, noting how his voice wavered. "I h-have been t-tortured for w-weeks, and I'm d-done." He was calm, too calm; England's hand was sliding towards his jacket. Slipping his hand into an inside pocket, he pulled out a long knife, glinting evilly in the filtered sunlight. With horrified gazes, all knew what was about to happen.

"Arthur, no, please." America cried out softly, mouth ajar with dismay, "I'm sorry! We're all sorry!" He tried inching towards England, voice becoming frantic.

"Maybe now you can see what happens when things are taken too far," with the parting words, England dragged the knife across his throat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, here's our next chapter for Taken Too Far! I'm sorry to leave everyone on that cliffhanger, but now the next chapter will explain all. My updates may become a little further apart because I now have another story that I'm working on called Rainy Skies. It's another England story, but I'm much, much nicer to him. Enjoy the chapter!**

**-Chi-Chan11**

**P.S- Starting with an America P.O.V and then going to an England P.O.V**

* * *

No sooner had England ran the knife across his throat did he fall to the ground. Crimson waves of blood came forth immediately, but still, the Brit did not make a sound. Hero instinct kicking back in, America rushed to England's side, resisting the urge to wail like a small child. All around him, frozen nations were starting in shock, only China and himself now moving forward to do something. Throwing the knife away, America watched China try to stem the bleeding with a strip of a torn curtain. Turning to him, the petite man spat orders like someone much more powerful.

"Get a stretcher aru!" Twisting his head around, but not letting up his work, he yelled in the direction of Spain and Germany, who were still in a shocked daze, "just because he is a nation does not mean he won't die if no one does something aru!" The pair raced off, returning a minute later with a long piece of board and a sheet from who knows where. Moving to help China, America and him shifted England onto the sheet-covered board, causing the Brit to moan with pain.

"Hey Iggy, it's going to be okay, I'm the hero, and you can't die." The last words were whispered, tears threatening to spill over his eyes. They picked up the stretcher, Switzerland following close behind with a concerned glint in his eye.

"Take to him to the hospital down the block, this is my country. There is a special ward for nations that we can use, the doctor is a colleague of mine." Nodding in reply, they maneuvered the makeshift stretcher out of the building, walking swiftly, several other nations walked beside, shielding the public from the spectacle coming by. It took mere minutes to make it to the hospital, but to America, it felt like days. An anxiety that was extremely new to him was causing his stomach to hurt, and he wondered if he was going to be sick. At the ward, a pair of doctors and a nurse, who promptly transferred England to a proper bed and disappeared into the operating room.

A large group of nations were now packed into the meeting room, everyone who had been at the meeting had tagged along. The room was dead silent, and people were in little groups, not really talking to one another. America was seated next to Japan, Germany, Spain, Romano and Italy. He was tugging on his hair nervously, trying to tune out the sound of a quietly whimpering Italy, who was clinging to Germany's shirt (much to the annoyance of Romano). Across from him, Spain was trying to hug his "little tomato" who appeared to be stunned to a point where he wasn't fighting and cursing like he usually did.

"Wow," America's mutter would have been nearly inaudible normally, but with the peculiar amount of silence, the words rang loud and clear.

"What do mean by that America?" Hungary was the first to answer from across the room, next to her, Austria nodded solemnly in agreement.

"It's just," pausing to sigh, the gloomy American continued, "I just never thought-" Another sharp pang in his stomach interrupted him, and he resisted the urge to wince.

"That he would do something so drastic," a soft voice finished the thought that he in fact could not choke out. All eyes shifted to another corner, Canada sat quietly, stroking the snowy fur of Kumajiro. "I think I can understand what happened, if you had all cared to pay attention." The stern voice was highly unusual, and any eyes that had strayed darted straight back to the Canadian.

"What is it Mattie?" America looked at his northern neighbor, as if acknowledging him for the first time. Canada took a deep breath, tangling his fingers into his polar bear's fur.

"Well, I noticed that a few weeks before this, certain people started saying things, and it escalated from there." His eyes flickered over to the direction of France, who was sitting silently next to Prussia. "Ask them what they did." Canada growled the last words, locking a violet gaze onto the pair.

"Well then," Germany turned to the pair, "Bruder, France, what did you do?"

"We would like to know, da?" Russia spoke right after Germany, the childish smile playing elsewhere.

"Yes, what happened aru?" China echoed Russia, gazing suspiciously at the pair, who were starting to fidget.

"What did you bastards do?" Romano had untangled himself from the unwanted embrace from Spain, and was glaring darkly at the pair. By this time, America had stood up, and was walking over to the pair, malice in his eyes.

"What the hell did you do to break him?" France and Prussia gazed up at him with wide eyes, fear flickering unintentionally like a butterfly.

"What do you mean Amérique? We only had a little fun," France smiled innocently, and Prussia kept a poker face.

"Yeah, no harm done!"

"It doesn't seem that way, people don't just do that without reason," glaring at the obvious lie, he watched with interest as France shrunk back.

"He was obviously depressed, but not showing it."

"Stop lying dammit!" Stomping his foot to emphasize the curse, he scrunched his eyes shut to resist the urge to hit one of them.

"No way would the awesome Prussia lie!" Smirking like he only could, Prussia added his signature laugh to finish the ruse.

"Bruder, we all know you and France lying. Just spit it out already before America punches one of you." Germany ended the budding argument, looking expectantly over at Prussia.

"Très bien! We'll tell you what happened," crossing his arms defensively, France looked over at Prussia, rolling his eyes slightly. "Angleterre and I got into a fight a few weeks ago, and I said I'd get my revenge, and I did." He shrugged nonchalantly, resulting in several harsh looks.

"I think America-san and Germany-san are asking for a more, detailed story." Japan gazed evenly at France, causing him to look away.

"Prussia and I sent a few text messages and spread a harmless rumor, nothing major, if you're so concerned, why don't you ask Angleterre yourself." Apparently done with anything he was going to say, he uncrossed his arms and looked towards the wall.

"Alright, we will," sitting back down with a thump, America wondered how long it would be until they could truly understand what had happened over the past few weeks.

* * *

It was dark, but yet, the world still moved; spinning and tossing, light slipping through the thin shields of his eyelids and creating oddly colored patterns. England tried to move, but found his limbs and eyes weighted down by a thousand pounds of lead.

'_Am I dead yet? I certainly don't feel dead,' _the thought was muddled with sleepiness, and he certainly doubted the fact that he was dead. As his mind started to clear, sounds started to make more sense. A soft beeping from some sort of medical machine, the buzzing of a fluorescent light and the muffled sounds of talking from the outside, where was he?

"The patient seems stable, body weight still dangerously low. We will need to arrange IV supplements until he's back on his feet." Patient, IV, which sounded like a hospital, he definitely was not dead. Deciding he needed to see what in fact was going on, he tried to open his eyes. The leaden weights intensified, making it feel like he was lifting a building with his eyes.

"Ow," a sharp pain ran into his neck, intensifying the difficulty. He tried again, this time, after much effort, his eyes opened. The first thing he saw, was a pair of bright hazel eyes, rimmed by silver wire glasses.

"You're awake," soft minty breath swirled around his head, making him wrinkle his nose. The woman backed up, revealing a young nurse with sandy-red hair. "Oh, good, that means the anesthetic has worn off, you must be hurting." She bustled off, long braid whipping around the corner. The nurse came back a minute later, a vial of clear liquid in hand. She walked over to the IV sticking out of his left forearm and injected the liquid into it. In a few seconds, a numbing sensation washed over him, and a sigh of relief slipped out of him.

"Thank you miss," the woman looked over at him, blinking a few times.

"No need for such formalities Mr. Kirkland, feel free to call me Paige." Smiling softly, she scribbled some notes onto a clipboard. "Would you like for me to inform anyone that you're awake?" Paige pulled an IV bag full of liquid off a cart, and attached it to the pole. As soon as she hooked up the tube, it started to drip liquid into his arm. "Extra nutrients," she added that with second thought, wheeling the cart out of the room. "So, who can I tell about you waking up?" She smiled sweetly, waiting for a response, "you have quite a crowd out in the waiting room."

England's eyes widened, a crowd? Hadn't everyone turned against him just weeks ago? Shifting slightly, he tried to think of anyone he'd want to speak to.

"Um, well, perhaps Alfred Jones, Kiku Honda, Matthew Williams and Ludwig Beilschmidt please; but no one else." With a quick nod, Paige left the room, humming a soft, yet unrecognizable tune. Within a few minutes, frantic footsteps could be heard flying down the hall.

"Iggy!" America barreled in first, followed by a much calmer Japan, Canada and Germany.

"England, good to see you up," Germany nodded curtly, but relief was apparent behind the neutral mask.

"You scared us all very much," Canada's whispery voice followed Germany, violet eyes round and bright.

"Certainly, we were all very worried," Japan smiled for a second, before dropping back into his unreadable expression. America flopped onto the edge of the bed, causing England to wince.

"Ow, take it easy," Shifting so he was sitting up fully, England swept his gaze over the three. "You actually came," these last words were murmured, but were picked up on by America.

"Of course we did!" Smiling tentatively, the American fiddled with his glasses. "Why wouldn't we come?"

"Because, you all hate me," At this, the four widened their eyes, looking at each other with confusion. "Because I wasn't good enough, weak, pathetic," the last two words were spat, full of venom.

"None of us hate you Arthur," Canada placed a light hand on the Brits shoulder, noting the subconscious tensing up that greeted him. "Why would you think that?"

"They called me weak, pathetic, all of those things," England crossed his arms, snarling the sentence with a dark contempt.

"Let me guess, it was France and mein Bruder," Germany scowled, shaking his head in realization of what had been happening. At that, the Brit cringed, as if reliving a thousand tragedies, all at once.

"It was, it started after you caught France and I fighting in the conference room. He said he'd get his revenge, he did a pretty good job of it I guess.

"France was the one who told me about the smallpox incident, he insisted you tried to cheat by using a virus, so it wasn't true?"

"No America, it was partially true, the smallpox was my fault. Nevertheless though, it was completely accidental."

"Oh," tugging his hair awkwardly, America looked like he was having trouble forming his words. "I'm really sorry Iggy, for saying all those things, you know? I was so upset, I felt so crappy thinking it might be true, that all that happened. Then I didn't think about it, that it could all be a lie, I mean, what use would France get out of telling me now?" Although he was starting to ramble, England could see emotions struggling to stay in check. "I don't know if you can forgive me, because what I said was pretty mean, and I pushed you away when you tried to fix it. Then, I could have done something when I noticed what was wrong, gone to your house and gotten in and fixed it all before you got this b-bad." There it was, the beginnings of a deluge of tears, "and again, I'm so, so sorry Iggy." The American began to sniffle, and England felt a pang at his heart.

"It's not all your fault Alfred, I didn't stand up for myself, and I pushed you and others away when they tried to help, and look where it got me." With shaky hands, England gestured to the line of stitches arching across his neck. "All I can really say to fix it now is that I'm sorry for going this far, when there were other options." The tears fell even harder from America's eyes, and his entire body began to shake with sobs; Canada patted his neighbors back softly, murmuring something unintelligible.

Suddenly, England could feel a pair of strong arms coiled around him, pulling him into a very teary hug. Without realizing it, his own tears began to fall as he hugged America back, resting his chin on the bomber jacket.

"I'm s-so glad you're a-alive I-Iggy," although his voice was hoarse and barely understandable, the words rang loud and clear, penetrating deeper than England thought they could go.

"Me t-too."

* * *

**Well, that's the end of that chapter. It'll all turn out eventually, so don't worry! Be sure to check out the other fic I'm posting soon, (Rainy Skies). I want to thank all of my readers and the amazing people who have taken the time to review and support my work. And I also want to ask for a moment of silence, dedicated to those who have taken their lives due to bullying...**

**Thank you,**

**Chi-Chan11**


	6. Chapter 6

**All I can really say is wow. I am thrilled to have such an amazing group of readers and reviewers, and all of you guys have been great at keeping me motivated. I think the story will take a happier aura from now on, so it really shouldn't get any more depressing. So to wrap up this authors note, I just want to say thank you to all of my readers and reviewers! **

**Enjoy!**

**-Chi-Chan11**

* * *

It had been about a week since England had woken up in the hospital, and still he was confined to the room's limits while he healed. During this time, he was near constantly on IV medication in order to regain all of the weight he had lost. Although at this point, he was no longer alone. Either America or Canada was by his side, either talking, or merely there to provide a relaxing presence. He was lying with his eyes closed, mind blank of any thought, when Paige bustled in, her bright smile jarring him into a state of attention.

"Hello Mr. Kirkland! The doctor is insisting you start a therapy session in order to stay out of a mental asylum. As long as the appointment goes well, you'll be able to go home." As she spoke, Paige was walking around the room, putting things away and generally tiding up.

"To stay out of an asylum?" Narrowing his eyes in confusion, England locked his emerald eyes onto the nurse, silently demanding an answer.

"Oh, well, usually we send suicidal patients to a treatment center. Especially as they have another condition, like your anorexia. But I digress, since you are a patient under special circumstances, we would prefer to keep this a private affair." Pursing her lips briefly, Paige was examining the IV bag, checking the valves for leaks. "With these kinds of therapy sessions, the doctor prefers to have someone with his patient. Do you have a friend or relative who would be willing to provide support for you?"

"Um, well, I can't think of anyone who would be willing to", England, mused softly, ruffling his hair awkwardly. "Unless, no," dropping his head into his hands, the Brit groaned softly.

"Who are you thinking of love?" Over the time, Paige's British heritage had become apparent, and she occasionally used said terms of endearment. "If you want, I can ask if they would join you", smiling sweetly, she placed a set of crisp white sheets on the bedside table.

"Really?" Raising an eyebrow, England shifted in the bed uncomfortably, feeling his legs twinge from so little use. "I don't really know who I would ask."

"Well I can contact the person who checked you in; he said he was a friend of yours."

"Who might that be? I don't have any memory of that point in time", by this point, England was starting to become confused.

"A Mr. Jones checked you in and placed himself as a contact number", Paige rifled through a stack of paper in a folder, reading off the contact name.

"Oh, well, I don't know. I don't really know if I want to talk to anybody now." The Brit grumbled quietly, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Sorry, I can't be of any assistance to that, I'll give him a call. You'll be taken down to the room around 2:45." Before England could protest, Paige left the room quickly, shoes clicking as she walked down the tile floor.

"Bloody Hell", cursing quietly, the Brit flopped back onto the pillow, wincing as a brief stab of pain rushed through his neck. Although the wound had healed considerably, it still hurt him every now and then, and probably would for a few years. "This will be a complete disaster", with a groan, England twisted onto his side, scowling when the oxygen monitor wailed from having its sensor squashed.

The Brit sat quietly for a few minutes, going through his thoughts and whatnot before becoming bored. Turning back onto his back, the Brit decided to get some rest before the therapy session. Letting the iron weights on his eyelids take over, he drifted off into dreamland.

* * *

Someone bouncing on the edge of the bed jarred England out of an already restless sleep. Opening his eyes half-heartedly, it was revealed that it was in fact America sitting on the bed, drumming his hands absentmindedly on his knees. Letting out a small groan, England shifted in the bed, pulling himself into a sitting position. When America noticed, he let out a soft whoop and sprung from the bed.

"Hey Iggy! You ready to go to the therapist?" With a goofy smile, he tugged on England's arm impatiently, hopping from one foot to the next.

"Give me a minute you git, I just got up," grumbling crossly, he got out of bed, glaring at the rumpled mess the hospital gown had become. "What I wouldn't give for my old clothes." The comment was meant more for himself, but America immediately noticed it.

"Well, wish granted! I brought a set of your usual clothes and stuff!" The goofy smile changed to one of pride as he pulled a poorly folded uniform out from behind his back. "Here you go England, all washed and clean." America pressed the green clothes into his hands before spinning around so his back was facing England. "Go ahead and change, I won't look!"

Changing quickly, the Brit found himself oddly comforted by the familiar feel of the clothes, and with a sigh, he looked back at America, shaking his head as the American bounced in place, humming a tune that he could not place.

"Come on, I'd rather not be late because of you," crossing his arms, England walked towards the door, followed closely by America. "Wait, didn't Paige say someone was going to come and bring us to the room." Muttering to himself, England spun on heel and started walking towards the bed again. His counterpart followed close behind, sitting down in a green armchair, while England perched on the edge of the bed.

"Hello Mr. Kirkland!" As if on cue, Paige walked into the room with a clipboard in hand. "Oh, and hello Mr. Jones," glancing over at America, she smiled warmly before looking back at England. "I'm here to take you down to Dr. Dumont's office, she's young, but one of the brightest minds there is, and we were lucky to get her fresh from the university in France."

"In France? Oh joy, this will be an adventure." Growling crossly, England folded his arms with a huff. Paige simply smiled and patted England on the shoulder supportively.

"Joyce is quite the doctor, although she is very unorthodox in her practices, and works very casually. Come on now, I'll take you to her office." England and America got to their feet, following the overly sunny nurse out of the room and into the almost deserted halls. For such a small woman, Paige moved surprisingly fast, and it took some effort to keep up with her. After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at a frosted glass door with the words 'Dr. Dumont' painted in black across the top.

"Bloody hell, why am I doing this again?" Scowling, England subconsciously backed away from the door.

"Because otherwise, we'll admit you to a mental facility." Paige's stern voice answered the question, and England silently decided not to push the matter any further. She knocked twice, and the door swung open immediately, revealing Dr. Dumont.

"Hey!" With a bright smile, the doctor beckoned the pain into the office. A wooden desk was pushed into the corner, and was covered in an assortment of knick-knacks and a sleek black laptop. A rug bearing the French flag was in the middle of the floor, surrounded by four black leather chairs. No place in the room appeared to be uncovered, as the walls were plastered with posters of various things. Paige was right, extremely odd.

"Hello Dr. Dumont", shrugging nonchalantly, England walked into the room, sitting lightly on one of the black armchairs. America flopped down beside him, and Paige gave a quick wave before shutting the door.

"No need for such formalities, please call me Joyce." The young doctor was certainly nothing England had ever seen before. She had long hair, dyed some jarringly unnatural shade of red, with dark roots peeking out, pinned up into a scruffy bun. Her bright blue eyes were surprisingly sharp for such a jovial spirit. Searching her face for any other emotion, he was surprised how similar her features were to a particular Frenchman that he was going to kill.

Dr. Dumont sat on her armchair, cradling a clipboard stuffed with paper on her lap. England looked her up and down one more time; even her choice of clothing was odd. She was dressed in professional-looking navy slacks, and a metallic textured bronze colored blouse, a heavy turquoise necklace and for some odd reason, a doctor's lab coat. Shaking his head, the Brit leaned back into the chair, mulling over just how long he would have to be there.

"Well Mr. Kirkland, you have quite the record, attempted suicide, anorexia, depression. This is quite a lot; would you care to explain why you went through with all of this?" The question was fair game, but the way she said it, with such a casual tone, made England want to punch a wall.

"I had my reasons; you could say I was persuaded." Glaring defiantly at the young doctor, he silently dared her to get him to open up.

"You will need to be a bit more specific, and I can read the look in your eye Mr. Kirkland, I'm certainly not him, believe me." Dr. Dumont smirked, leaning back in her chair triumphantly. Surprised at her boldness, England widened his emerald eyes, uncrossing his arms silently. She chuckled quietly, tossing back her head ever so slightly. "It's a talent of mine, it took years of practice."

"Well, it's really cool Joyce!" With his typical smile, America jabbed England in the arm. "What do you think Iggy?"

"Don't call me that!" Shifting away from America, he redirected his gaze back to the doctor. "I had a fight with someone, and in turn, they pointed out some very true things." Blinking slowly, England did not let his gaze waver from Dr. Dumont.

"Would this be the Mr. Bonnefoy that you speak of?"

"Yes, it is."

"So he said some things that were true you say? What did he say?"

"He and his friend told me I was weak, pathetic, which is all true." Letting out a soft sigh, England propped an elbow up onto the arm of the chair.

"Hey!" America interrupted the brief silence by slamming his hand down on the chair. "You are not pathetic!"

"Stop leading me in circles America, you only saved me so I'd trust you again." The Brit glared at his counterpart, "I wish now I would have just died".

"No you don't! Why would you ever think that?" The American shot back immediately at England, eyes stretched wide in horror.

"Because everything is true, I'm useless, and you know it."

"No! Dammit, it's not true! You need to-"

"France and Prussia were right!" England interrupted America with a harsh snap, causing his counterpart to shrink away in surprise. "I should have just killed myself earlier, but you just had to go off and save me." The snap turning into a low growl, the Brit shrunk back into his chair. "And all of you people are the same; all you do is hurt me." England turned his fury towards the doctor who had stayed silent the whole time.

"Mr. Kirkland, are you possibly referring to the people of France?" Dr. Dumont blinked slowly, jotting something down onto the clipboard.

"Yes dammit! When the bloody personification of a country torments you for weeks on things that are true, you tend to think that the whole public of said country is out to get you!" England let his voice rise to a cracked screech, before hiding his face in his hands.

"Iggy!" The wide-eyed American pulled his counterpart into a tight hug, flinching a few times as the Brit struggled to get away. "No one is going to hurt you anymore!"

"Let go of me! Why the hell didn't you let me die?" As England's screeching voice turned into a sob, America only hugged him tighter.

"Because I- we don't know what we'd do without you," America released the Brit, letting him lean back into the chair.

"Hey! All right, I think we have enough talking for today, and I would like to go home eventually, so here is the plan. Mr. Kirkland, you obviously are still feeling the backwash of your depression. Along with that, you are becoming fearful and aggressive towards the French. I have an idea that may help resolve that, but I will save that for our next session." With a sigh, the doctor tossed the clipboard onto the desk, creating a crash as something was knocked over.

"So I can go home now, right?" Standing up, England twisted his head towards the door, ready to go home and fall asleep.

"Not exactly, since you are definitely still unstable, I am going to insist that you not live alone." Sighing, Dr. Dumont paced across the room. "You must either stay with a friend or relative, or have them stay with you.

"I know!" America jumped out of his seat, bouncing with excitement. "England can stay with me! I'll take good care of him Joyce!"

"Very well, you two need to be back here next week for another session. Now get out of my office, I want to go home." Dr. Dumont pushed the pair out the door, grinning in a way that did not match her words. "I look forward to seeing you two next week!" She flashed a coy smile before shutting the door, leaving England and America alone in the hall.

"This will be fun Iggy, and I'll take good care of you!" The brightly smiling American clapped England on the shoulder, making the other wince.

"You're a git, you know that?"

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**Well that is the end of that chapter! I hope everyone enjoyed my therapist, since we will see more of her. For some reason, I do much better at making female characters than male, so almost all of my OC's are female, so that's the reason for that. I'm sorry the chapter is so late, I had writers block, and if I might not be able to post the next chapter before I go on a trip that lasts two weeks, so sorry in advance if I don't. Thanks for reading! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Oh geez! I feel so bad about just dropping off, but I had a no-internet access vacation, and have had writers block for a long time. I wanted to say that England's weird behavior revolves against mood swings and fear of the French resulting from France's abuse, he is letting out his fear as anger, and America's just a scapegoat, thus his behavior. So I had a few questions from reviewers, so I will answer them below in just a second, and I will respond and recognize some of my long-term reviewers. I am also going to start responding the reviews I get come next chapter. **

**Shadow-Gaze14: France and Prussia will be dealt with a little bit later, just give it time, they'll get what's coming to them! Thanks for reading and I'm thrilled to have a chronic reviewer.**

**Guest: This will be in fact a USUK, but a fairly mild one, nothing heavy. And yes, Joyce Dumont is French, she's well trained, and we'll find out why she doesn't hit on England in this chapter. But her face does in fact look similar to France, they could be siblings if she didn't dye her hair. Thanks for reviewing!**

**So for now I would like to specially thank The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, Shadow-Gaze14, Chibi Night Angel, Illusion Fox, xXTweekersXx, Prussian Sinister, KoKonut27, SakuraMoriChan, ****PridexWretchedluver4ever**** and Nanami of Falling Snow. These are people who have reviewed at least two times, and I'm sorry a million times to anyone I missed. Thank you all for encouraging me!**

**-Chi-Chan11**

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It had been a week since the first therapy session that had left England feeling vulnerable and confused. His thoughts had been swirling all this week, and he had no way to answer them.

'_Why had America offered to take me in? What is going to happen to France and Prussia? What in the world is Doctor Dumont planning?' _The thoughts were difficult to ponder at the least. Although, the third would be answered today, he had another session with Doctor Dumont, he still didn't trust the young woman who looked so frighteningly like France.

The week had been better than his past weeks and unfortunately for him, it was rather awkward. America had been hovering over him, following him around and offering to do most anything for him. Although, some of it was in vain, he had tried to make a cup of tea, and when America insisted on doing it, he was brought something that smelled suspiciously like coffee, the Brit had immediately thrown it out. He knew the American only meant the best, but some of it was laughably sad.

It was about 1:30 in the afternoon, the appointment was at 2:00, and the Brit was dragging his feet. He didn't want to go, he had no intentions of going. The first appointment was awkward, infuriating and just plain embarrassing, thus him sitting on his bed, dressed only in a towel (from being fresh out of the shower) and staring at the wall. America was already downstairs, hollering at England to hurry up before they were running late. He had ignored them, he had no intention of going to the meetings, so why try? The wall was in fact quite interesting, and the view out the window would keep him occupied.

"England!" A sharp yell echoed up the stairs, the American sounded annoyed. "We're going to be late! I'm coming up to check on you, you better be decent!"

"Don't tell me what to do you wanker!" Eyes wide, the Brit scrambled to pull clothes on, grabbing whatever looked to match. He ended up in light brown slacks, and a blue sweater vest layered over a white long-sleeved t-shirt. Sitting down on the end of the bed, now fully clothed, the Brit waited for the obnoxious American to bust the door open. This in fact was true, and a second later, the door swung open, banging harshly against the wall. America walked in, an oddly stern look plastered on his face.

"We're really going to be late, you look ready, so why are you just sitting there Iggy?" Cocking his head to one side like a dog, the action reminded England of a small child, curious about the world around them.

"Well, if you must know, I'm not going," crossing his arms, the Brit stared up at his counterpart, daring him to try anything to change his notions. "And for the love of god, don't call me Iggy," the last part was added as an afterthought, and England glared defiantly, watching as the American frowned.

"Dude, you have to go, it's not an option."

"Do I honestly look like I care America?"

"No, but you rea-"

"I already told you, NO." Interrupting America, England twisted around, staring out the window again. "The sessions are pointless anyway."

"Damn, I really don't want to have to force you Iggy," peering behind him, England could see the other scratching the back of his neck, making a sheepish face. "Please, will you just get up and go?"

"No," at those words, England felt himself being picked up and slung over the American's shoulder. Letting out a surprised squeak, the Brit flailed his arms, hitting them on his captors back. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Taking you to the session of course, I warned you England, I really did." It sounded like the idiot was smiling, but in his position, the Brit really couldn't see anything. England continued pounding his fists on the taller nations back, making indignant noises in reply to the unwanted kidnapping.

"Why do I have to go anyway?" Crossing his arms with a huff, England let his voice slip into a slight whine, mentally slapping himself for acting that immature. "It doesn't help, the doctor just points out what I already know." At these words, the American stopped suddenly, making England's face slam into his counterpart's back. "Ow! What was that America?" With a breathy sigh, America set England down, looking him straight in the eye.

"Believe it or not Arthur," England flinched at the mention of his human name, he still felt a bit nervous around people, but he thought he had done a good job of plastering it under the mask that still wasn't quite the same as his old self. "Even if the sessions don't help you, they help me." England widened his eyes, a confused look slipping into his features.

"What do you mean by that?" The question was cool and fair game, and America's eyes seemed to get even firmer, and he pressed his mouth into a thin line.

"I mean that even though you don't want to go, and you don't think it helps, it helps me. It helps me understand why you did that to yourself." The American's eyes softened slightly, and England could see a sad aura creeping into them. "And then I can know how I can help you feel better, you know what I'm talking about?"

The pair left in silence, the American looked slightly embarrassed, while the Brit just looked stunned but apprehension danced through his eyes as he fretted about what might happen at the therapy session in only a few minutes.

It was five minutes to two when the pair reached the hospital. They hadn't spoken in the car, it had just felt too awkward to discuss the previous conversation at this moment. They walked into the lobby of the building, taking the elevator up to the top floor. The crisp white hallway smelled strongly of rubbing alcohol, and the florescent lights glaring down made England's head twinge.

Paige was sitting at the nurse's station, typing something on a weathered black laptop. Smiling, she stood up, walking over while waving subtly.

"Hello Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Jones. Doctor Dumont is waiting for you guys in her office, so come with me." Without another word, the red-head bustled off, briefly waving a hand to motion the pair to follow. Within a minute, England and America were yet again outside of the frosted glass doors, with the doctor's name painted across. It was silent inside, not even the sound of rustling paper to alert to the fact that Doctor Dumont may have been inside. With a quick knock, Paige stepped backwards, enabling the door to swing open a second later.

"Bonjour Paige," a brief pleased smile flickered across the French woman's face, before it settled back into a cocky smirk. "And to you too Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Jones, please, come sit down." The pair shuffled into the messy office, settling into the leather chairs. In behind swept the doctor, the white doctor's coat this time covering a pair of wide legged black slacks and a metallic purple blouse. Paige left a minute later, giving a slight wave before disappearing down the hall.

"So Joyce," America was the first to speak, smiling happily at the blue eyed doctor. "What do you have planned today?"

"Well, I would like to address Mr. Kirkland's insecurities around the French. I have a guest with me today, but before I bring her in, I would like to show you something." Reaching behind her, Doctor Dumont pulled a silver-framed picture from her desk. "This may quell some of your disbeliefs about the French and English coinciding in a peaceful and friendly fashion."

Passing the picture to England, she let him drink in the image. There were three people in the picture, the first was obviously Doctor Dumont, the doctor's coat elsewhere; she was leaning against a slender brunette with light brown eyes that looked almost amber. She also had her arm flung around a girl that looked exactly like herself, excusing the pink dyed hair.

"Besides myself, those two people are my twin sister Rosie, and my fiancée William, William and I met when I visited his university in England. He was born and raised in London, and we have been in love for seven years." England stared at the doctor with wide eyes, trying to wrap his head around the idea of the pair.

"Well that's certainly awesome Joyce, congrats on keeping it together for so long." America flashed a massive smile, clapping the doctor on the arm.

"Thank you. I also live with Rosie's twin daughters, slightly odd, don't you think? Me and Rosie being twins, and then Elanna and Kari, quite odd, but I digress. So William and I became the caretakers of them after Rosie and her husband Pierre died in a car crash. Pierre was also French, so Elanna and Kari are both French, I brought Elanna to work today, and I would like for you to meet her."

With that, Doctor Dumont left the room, and then a second later, coming back, holding the hand of a preteen girl. She was the spitting image of Doctor Dumont, with dark-brown waves resting on her collarbone and bright blue eyes that could stare straight into someone's soul. Elanna's hands were clasped firmly in front of her, arms resting over a blue t-shirt and a pair of white jeans. She cracked a gentle smile, settling herself into the chair beside her aunt.

"Hello Mr. England, Mr. America. It's nice to meet you both," the girl cracked a smile, her accent giving her voice an odd clip. They both blinked in surprise in the easiness that the girl said their country names.

"Hello Elanna!" With a big smile, the American reached out to shake the girl's hand, dwarfing it in his massive hand.

"Hello Elanna," nodding slightly, the Brit did his best to hide any blatant fear and rage that could be expressed at the girl. She sat back down, and now on further inspection, she looked about ten or eleven years old.

"I here that you haven't been feeling that well, and Aunt Joyce thought that maybe if I had a word with you, it may help." She smiled again, with all of the innocence of someone years younger, she had obviously had gone through minimal trauma besides the loss of her parents.

"Perhaps," England was still on edge of this girl, who knew what she might do.

"And I would like to say, I know you don't trust me, or the French people. Nevertheless Mr. England, I was sad when Mama and Papa were hit by that car. The man driving it was a Korean man, and although Kari got over her fury and fear quickly, I didn't. I always blamed the Koreans for their deaths, and I always thought that they would go after me too." The girl visibly shivered, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Wow, that really sucks Elanna!" With wide eyes, America blinked slowly, glancing over at England. The Brit on the other hand, felt oddly sympathetic towards the girl, just perhaps, something could be fixed.

"I guess. But after a few months of depression, Aunt Joyce introduced me to a man named Harold, he was Korean, and at first, I was scared of him. But he told me his story, and soon after, I learned to forgive. Now I think that maybe, just maybe, you can do what I did, and find comfort in an unlikely place, and for you, more than one." She locked her eyes onto America, before twisting to stare at England.

"Gee, thanks Elanna!" With a happy grin, America twisted to stare at England. "You listen to her, okay?"

"Alright America, perhaps I can try." At this moment, the Brit found that perhaps, he could place some faith in the words of an innocent girl, who had gone through so much.

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**So, that's the end of this chapter, and I feel guilty for not updating sooner, but I had everything to do. I hope everyone enjoyed my chapter, and I can promise it will look up soon. Please enjoy reading and leave reviews!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Chi-Chan11**


	8. Chapter 8

**Well, here's another chapter of my most popular story review wise! I'm looking to start winding the story down, so I can finally have one less thing to deal with. I am really sorry I couldn't update sooner, but I've been doing nine hour dance classes for days straight and I screwed up my ankle. But enough of my ramblings. On with the story!**

**-Chi-Chan11**

**VengefulMothSlayer: Thanks for pointing out my awkward sentence! Looking back on it, I don't like it either, and it drives me crazy when I see afterwards. Grrr…**

**Prussian Sinister: That is odd! Although I just made it up on the spot, using someone I hadn't written with yet, so bam! Korea happened. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement!**

**Shadow-Gaze14: Don't worry! He certainly will!**

**CrazyLady246: Wow, thank you! Frankly I'm flattered by your review, as well as all of the others, enjoy the new chapter!**

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It had been three weeks. Cycling through a mess of sitting around at America's, going to those odd therapy sessions and trying to contemplate what had come from meeting Elanna, that young girl who had an odd effect on him. Now he sat holed up in his room, curled in a chair while looking out the window to the cloud speckled blue sky.

"I wonder what will happen next," murmuring to no one in particular, England let his gaze flicker around the room; from the cornflower blue wall paper to a painting of a sailboat riding on crisp waves across a canvas. "The whole world seems to have flipped up-side-down."

In a sense, it had. Just two months ago, everything had been normal, he had lived a normal, if not boring life, besides the typical antics of being of nation and dealing with others. Nevertheless, after one argument that escalated too far, everything had crumbled. The whole world that he knew and reveled in had fallen; in the blink of an eye, he had been swathed in darkness, a world of never good enough and blatant flaws.

He had fallen, but not quite hit the ground, he was nearly there, but any further, and he would have crashed, landing heavily on the ground to an eternity of suffering. But he had been caught, awkwardly though, inverted and twisted, not quite the same as when he slipped.

Who in fact had caught him, and when? Someone had saved him, and although he was damaged, he was coming back, and perhaps, he could be better than he used to be. Learn from the dark world of anguish and the arduous struggle out of the chasm, and blossom into something fresh and new. The Brit crossed his legs, pondering over his thoughts for a few minutes longer, the world was an odd place, full of deception, dark people and even darker places. Yet, he still couldn't grasp who had helped him back out from under a veil that still slipped half-way down his face.

What Elanna had said made him think. Relying on someone for comfort, and from more than one? The phrase in itself was odd, and for the life of him, England could not figure out whom she was referring to. He had an idea of one, Doctor Dumont, who had worked hard to bring England out of a shell reinforced with steel. But then again, the other person was blurry in his mind.

No one had really tried to help England when he had fallen into his depression; although, he had come to learn that as he sunk lower, he had shut himself away, hiding from anyone who might of helped.

"Who is that second person?" Folding his arms over himself, the Brit twisted to look out over the spacious back lawn of the house.

"Hey, what are you talking about Iggy?" America had entered the room silently, walking up to the back of the Brit's chair and resting a heavy hand on the back of the chair. Not bothering to correct his counterpart on the use of that infernal nickname, England twisted around, staring straight at America with wide emerald eyes.

"Oh, I'm just mulling over some things that were said, and thinking about where my position is." Pursing his lips expectantly, England watched an unreadable emotion flicker through America's eyes.

"Cool!" The emotion snapped to the American's typical happy smile. "Oh, I just came to tell you that Joyce called, she has something special planned, and she wants us to come in immediately." Straightening up, England reached upwards, stretching out the muscles in his back and shoulders.

"Really?" Quizzically, the Brit looked back at the American, trying to make sense of the words just said. "Why?"

"I wasn't told, and I'm no mind reader dude. So, you're dressed in suitable clothes, so get up, and let's go!" Beaming, America gripped England's wrist, pulling him to his feet. Shaking his head to clear away the slight sleepy feeling, England allowed himself to be towed out and into the car.

The ride to the hospital seemed longer than usual, but it was filled with random chatter from both sides, relating to nothing of use. They parked, walking quietly up to the right floor, passing a nurse who was definitely not Paige. She waved softly while yawning, closing dun colored eyes. Walking through the cleaner scented halls of the hospital, England found that he knew the route to the therapy room like the back of his hand. They reached the door, hearing the soft chatter of three voices through the room. Knocking softly, they only had to wait a second before Doctor Dumont swung the door open, the long white coat whistling around a black pencil skirt and a pleated white button-up shirt.

"Hello Mr. Jones, Mr. Kirkland, come in, come in!" Ushering the pair in merrily, England was in for a shock to see France and Prussia sitting on a new leather sofa next to the chairs, both wearing serious faces.

"W-What are they doing here?" Voice wavering for a second, England stumbled back, bumping into America's chest.

"This is another special session, I believe it is time Mr. Kirkland, to confront your demons." Stretching out onto her tiptoes, the doctor spun to face Prussia and France, "and I expect everyone to play a fair game, no smoke and mirrors."

"Bien entendu Joyce," France bobbed his head, before looking over to Prussia.

"Ja, ja." Rolling his eyes crossly, Prussia folded his arms, inviting a glare from Doctor Dumont. "Alright! Geez, take it easy," the Prussian hissed softly for a second before trying again, raising his right hand in a mock oath. "I swear."

Doctor Dumont smirked, resting a nimble hand lightly on a softly padded hip. Spinning around ballerina-style, she locked her sapphire eyes onto England and America before grabbing their wrists with a strong grip and half ushering and half dragging them their usual black leather chairs.

"Merci, now let's get started." Sitting down heavily in her chair, the doctor curled her legs into her chest, looking oddly like a small child, but her posture and tone of voice told otherwise.

"Where do you want to start Joyce?" America was eyeing France and Prussia warily, seeming to watch for any sign of trouble; his actions oddly flattered England, who was trying to set his jumbled thoughts into some sort of order.

"I would like to have Mr. Kirkland confront our two guests about the events leading up to our therapy sessions, and anything that Mr. Kirkland says is fair game, but I'd like him to get everything off of his chest." Turning to England, she looked at him with neutral eyes. "Is that alright with you Mr. Kirkland?"

"I guess," England's answer was laced with hesitation, and he was trying his best to keep his voice from wavering. "Let's just get this over with."

"Alright, let's start by having Mr. Kirkland explain his feelings to the events of the incident in question, then we can proceed." Whipping her clipboard out of nowhere, Doctor Dumont fell silent, making notes with a ball point pen.

"So, I guess I was surprised when everything started. We've argued before, and we've fought, but what you said: 'You'll pay'. That was haunting. And when everything happened, I couldn't figure out what had happened, and why. So, tell me why, France, Prussia; why did you do that to me?" The words flowed almost effortlessly, as the Brit recalled the horrid memories of the past.

"I was tired of it Angleterre, I was mad, and I wanted you to hurt. So I got Prussia to help me out, but it's not my fault that the rumor I made up was true." That again, flinching internally, England stared at the Frenchman with furrowed brows.

A second later, France's words took full effect, and England's eyes stretched wide. Next to him, America stiffened, arms locking to his sides. Narrowing his eyes, the American shifted in his seat, the gleam in his eyes oddly protective.

"Yeah, France here got me to help. So we collaborated and came up with a random rumor, but it was true, so it's not our fault it got so bad." Next to France, Prussia nodded his head in agreement, basically repeating what his counterpart had said.

"Bull." At that moment, America rose to his feet, giving a death glare to the two nations on the couch. "That's complete and utter bull." Growling under his breath, the American looked ready to punch the lights out of the pair. Becoming worried, England tugged America's shirtsleeve, forcing him to sit back down. Sighing softly, the Brit found it was his turn to speak.

"It's true that rumor was true, but you exaggerated it, what happened was an accident, I may be a nation, but I have no control over the whole of my people." Squirming in his chair, England tried to force himself to relax, but to no avail.

"Ah, but Angleterre, Prusse and I feel horrible for what we did and said, it certainly wasn't worth the sweet feeling of revenge." France crossed his legs, pushing his blonde hair behind his ear.

"No." This time, it was England's turn to cry foul. "You tortured me, followed me and humiliated me until I was a self-conscious wreck, and you knew exactly what you were doing." Taking a deep breath, England locked an emerald gaze onto France and Prussia, ready to face his demons. "At first, I was afraid of your people, but a child convinced me otherwise. Now I know, not all of you are bad people, but you and Prussia are horrible, horrible people; and I hope your bosses, and Germany, enact a half-descent revenge to what I suffered, now, get the bloody hell out."

England watched with narrow eyes as the pair stood slowly and began to leave, shuffling awkwardly on the carpet. America stood now, gazing at them with icy blue eyes.

"France, Prussia?"

"Oui?"

"Ja?"

"If you ever, do anything to Iggy again; I will rain suffering down upon you, go home." Snarling with a malice that England didn't know that the happy-go-lucky American could possess, he watched the pair scurry out faster than before. England turned to America, trying to make sense of what had just been said.

"Thank you, I g-guess." Murmuring quietly, England glanced up shyly at America, his emotions were catching up to him, and tears were threatening to break over a stony façade.

"It's no problem Iggy. Everyone needs a hero after all." All at once, and (oddly enough) at that particular, and rather memorable phrase, England broke down, tears flowing over like a river. Letting out a soft whimper, he allowed himself to be crushed to America in a hug, as his tears stained his counterpart's bomber jacket.

At that moment, it hit him. Who Elanna had referred to.

America.

How could he not have realized sooner? He had stood by him through everything after that painful suicide attempt, and was the first to come and see him when he'd woken up. America had sat through everything, the his raging at the therapy sessions, and had taken him in when the doctor had insisted he not live alone.

How stupid was he? A preteen girl had seen right through the shadows around the dance that was their relationship. The tears fell harder, and by know, the muscles in his stomach were starting to ache.

"T-thank you," it was barely a murmur, the words he choked out, not audible enough for Doctor Dumont to hear, but just loud enough for America to hear. In an instant, England found himself pulled away and his chin tilted up to view the American's face through watery emerald eyes.

"For what?" The Brit watched his eyes blink slowly, as America tried to decipher what had just been said. "What did I do?" Gulping, England tried to find his voice, not sure how to proceed.

"For catching me when I fell, and sticking by me as I tried to stand back up on my feet again." The metaphor was the best he could come up with, but it seemed that America got it, because he pulled the Brit back into a hug, resting his chin into the Brit's tousled blonde hair.

"You're welcome Iggy," America's voice was low and gentle, much like how one would talk to a traumatized child. "And I swear, on my life, I will never let you fall again."

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**Wow, that was a fluffy ending… But yay! France and Prussia have been confronted, and England's finally realized he isn't useless! I think there will be one for chapter of Taken Too Far, an epilogue, before I mark my lovely story as complete. So, I hope everyone enjoyed my belated chapter of the story, and reviews always make me smile.**


	9. Authors Note

**Hey everyone, it's Chi-Chan. I wanted to apologize for not updating sooner. But my computer completely crashed, and I lost the 90% finished epilogue… So, it'll be a little longer, I just need you to be patient. Thanks!**


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